


SHIFT

by Dickensgal31



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canonical Character Death implied, Gen, Season 9 Coda, Sort of Blasphemous, Spoilers 9:23 Do you believe in miracles?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 06:27:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1678142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dickensgal31/pseuds/Dickensgal31
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean fought Metatron and the Universe shifted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	SHIFT

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: I started this one-shot about five minutes after the finale. But I had to stop. I was just too angry to write. So I read a few fics that night and then stopped again. This morning in between client calls the story and the finale just bugged me. A friend didn’t watch until yesterday and so I was pissed off all over again. So, I decided to finish the story I started. Even before the Season Nine finale bits of this story were roaming around my head. So… hope you liked what I did, Lisa (See End note for Disclaimer.)

  


There was a shift in the universe. Somewhere. It was not quite subtle nor was it shattering.

It was, however, noticeable.

There had been a few tremors to the primordial plane in the last few months. And he was busier in the Apocalypse and its aftermath, but he noticed.

How could he not?

The shift was getting stronger with every second. There was only one thing that would force him to feel this type of shift. The kind that hit him at his very core.

Humanity was in jeopardy. The tiny beings that caused the greatest upheavals that could affect every plane. Humanity was losing one of its best. The loss was splintering through all four planes and leaving a gaping hole in its wake.

One of his minions shimmered into the room he favored in his scant moments of everyday life.

“Sir,” the young Reaper bowed before him, “it’s a Winchester. But,” the man’s brow furrowed in unlikely confusion, “it’s not his time.”

Death nodded as he turned back to the window looking over the rolling green of the field he’d settled in for now. He stroked the head of his cane with his thumb.

“Thank you, Robert,” he said without looking at the young man, “you may go.”

Robert hesitated for a moment and with a nod to the back of his master’s head, removed himself as his boss left without a trace.

It would take a bit of doing to figure out how monumentally someone had screwed the pooch this time around. As if the Apocalypse wasn’t bad enough. Letting Lilith rise, and Lucifer out of the cage, that was just the tip of the fucking iceberg.

He popped up to Heaven. He took in the disastrous mess that was the Ethereal plane and had to wonder when the big Man would finally come to his senses and get back home and clean up his shit.

An older Seraph stopped before him, “We are not ready for him, yet,” the man sputtered out, “we need more time. It’s a mess here!”

“Who is it you’re getting ready to receive?”

“A Winchester, Dean,” the Seraph said hesitantly, “but it’s not a sure thing, yet. Oh,” the man groaned, “I don’t know what’s going on and Castiel is not here, Father is not here, all the Archs are gone…”

Death left the Seraph sputtering and took a quick hop to Purgatory. Dean had already been there. It wasn’t likely he’d be back. As the portal closed behind him he was accosted by a mouthy pair demanding to know his intentions.

With a glance he silenced them and looked toward the rustling of trees.

“Ah, Abaddon,” he smiled gently at the being still in its Earthly guise of a female, “I should have known you’d be here.”

She said nothing but held his gaze. After a mere heartbeat that felt like eternity, she broke. “I’m dead already. What do you want? We’re quite busy,” she looked around at her eerily silent surroundings.

“Busy?” He couldn’t help the sarcasm that dripped as he considered the formidable woman before him. “You have eternity, darling, how busy can you be?”

Her rubied lips curled in a smile that was both menacing and ecstatic.

“We may be getting a return visitor,” she licked her lips as though tasting something exquisitely delicious, “and I can’t wait.”

“Do tell?” He knew the answer, but he wanted to hear her say his name, he wanted her to stake her claim.

“WE do not speak his name!”

Her voice reverberated throughout. The trees nearly shivered with her venom.

Death couldn’t keep the small smile from his lips, “Dean Winchester will never come here.”

  
**. . .**

  
There was a shift.  
  
He could feel the pull as he looked upon the acidic gnome sitting before him not even the slightest bit cowed by the destruction he’d wrought in his hubris to be God.  
  
He felt the pull at his vessel’s heart as something wrenched it, stopped its beating for a millisecond.  
  
“NO!!!”  
  
The angels around him were slammed back by the pain that ripped from his very guts.  
  
“I told you,” Metatron chided. “He’s done!” His eyes glittered as Cas tried not to look in them, “Or perhaps he’s not,” the gnome shrugged.  
  
Cas pulled the cur to his chest. He dimpled his blade into the base of Metatron's neck, “You deserve no mercy! None!”  
  
He swiped the tip of the knife and was about to take what he needed when he pulled away.  
  
“Can’t do it, can you,” Metatron snickered, “you’re weak, Castiel. No wonder you were so easy!”  
  
Cas took in a breath and thought about where he needed to be. He needed to be with the one who needed him. The one who failed, but kept getting up. The one who fought for those who couldn’t or wouldn’t.  
  
“Your Grace is tainted,” Cas growled, “to let it touch my vessel is a disservice to it, to Heaven, to the true God!”  
  
He stepped back and took off on a run. Hannah’s voice rang in his ears as he ran, Metatron’s laughter fueled his anger.  
  
“STOP!”  
  
Hannah put her hands onto Castiel’s chest, “Take mine. It’s Dean isn’t it?”  
  
“You have no idea how bright his soul is,” Cas gritted out, “no idea what’s he’s sacrificed for us.”  
  
She nodded slowly and bared her neck. “Take mine. I’m not pure, but not as tainted as Metatron.” Her eyes held his, “Help him.”  
  
Cas hesitated, but felt his weakened self flail. He didn’t have wings to fly, the juice to heal, to do much. If he did another healing it would be the end of him. But that wasn’t the issue. The issue was he barely had enough to heal even a housecat.  
  
He quickly swiped at Hannah’s neck and gently took the Grace she offered. He took a moment to lay her vessel softly down into a chair. He let his fingers caress her cheek. “Thank you.”  
  
He was gone.

**. . .**

There was a shift.  
  
“Ah, it’s time, my lovelies,” he petted the hounds on either side as he rose from the plush velvet chair.  
  
In the blink of an eye he was where he wanted and needed to be.  
  
He looked on the strong body laid out on the first bed the Hunter could call his own since he was a four year old.  
  
“Dean Winchester,” Crowley pulled out the chair by the small desk, “I’ve waited a long time for you. I’m not sure I wanted you, but how could I not. To have you, THE Righteous Man, as a Knight of Hell? Doing my bidding?” He smoothed his jacket, “It is just too delicious.”  
  
His eyes combed over Dean’s body. It was battered. It was bruised. It was bloody. But the strength of a thousand was within it.  
  
“I knew when you didn’t want that burger that the change was starting for you,” his never quite lost brogue softly filling the room. “It’s the Mark, you know. I didn’t know it would do this, really I didn’t. I didn’t lie to you.”  
  
“You did, indeed, lie to him,” Death said from the doorway. He stood for a moment before coming in. His eyes swept to Crowley, “Why are you here?”  
  
“He’s mine,” Crowley stood and nodded to Dean. “He’s got the Mark of Cain. He chose it, I can give him life.”  
  
“So can I.” Cas turned into the room straining to catch his breath.  
  
“He’s already gone,” Crowley crooned, “only I can bring him back. Little Sammy is summoning me, even now.”  
  
“You will not have him,” Cas growled. “Dean has fought against you and your kind his entire life! YOU are the last,” he choked, “the last being he’d want to raise him!”  
  
“But he’s come to me before,” Crowley smirked. “He spent ten years under Alistair, thirty in Hell. Until you,” Crowley sneered, “took him from me. Oh, his screams are delicious. Like chocolate cake and ice cream, like caviar and good vodka, like sun sh…”  
  
“Oh, shut it,” Cas snapped. “He did that to save his brother! He traded himself for SAM!” Cas stepped into Crowley, “You don’t want to torture him. Even I know that! You,” his throat choked, “you want to make him your emissary! YOU want to use him to make you look good!”  
  
Crowley preened, “And why not…”  
  
Cas suddenly whipped around and turned to Death, “You’re here. Why?”  
  
Death’s eyes slid over the disheveled angel. He peered unflinchingly into his eyes. They might be the eyes of his vessel, but they reflected all that Castiel felt.  
  
“Dean.”  
  
Cas nodded, “What about him?” Cas looked over at his friend, his compatriot.  
  
_You gave up an army for me, Cas._  
  
“You gave up an army for him,” Death repeated the thought that ran through Cas as he watched the angel watching Dean. But he saw, too, the devotion the human had for the angel and the angel for the human. He could nearly feel it through the angel’s memory.  
  
Cas held Death’s gaze, “And I would again. And again. He’s worth it. He’s worth so much.”  
  
Crowley let out a low chuckle, “Well, then, just think how great it will be for you when I raise him. You can have him for eternity. The Angel and the Demon, truly a match made in heaven.”  
  
Death didn’t miss the rage that flew across the angel’s face.  
  
“Opposites do attract, dear boy,” Crowley chided, “even you know that.”  
  
Cas shoved passed him and sat at the edge of Dean’s bed. He placed his fingers over the largest wound to his abdomen. He felt his refreshed Grace pump through him. It surged closing the wound only to have it reopen.  
  
Cain’s brand burned on Dean’s arm. It fought Cas’ Grace with a power of its own.  
  
Crowley sighed in the background.  
  
Cas renewed his attempt, but the Mark fought him.  
  
“Oh, dear boy,” Crowley said with disdain, “you are wasting yourself. “ He picked up the First Blade and put it in Dean’s hand laying it across his chest. “There you go, Dean. This is what you need to start your new life. A life that will give you so many rewards. Rewards you never let yourself dream about.”  
  
As he stepped back Dean’s eyes flew open. Black as night. Gone were the crystalline emerald green that had beheld humanity with more compassion than he’d ever admit.  
  
Cas jumped from the bed and looked at his friend in horror. He turned on Crowley and slammed him into the wall, “Undo it! He doesn’t want this!”  
  
“Cas?”  
  
Dean’s voice was gravely. Weak. His wounds were closing, healing. He looked over at the angel.  
  
“You came.”  
  
Dean smiled weakly.  
  
Cas nodded as he stepped away from Crowley.  
  
Dean looked around the room. He saw Death standing to the left of his bed. He looked down at his hand, at the First Blade. Looking back at Cas he made a small smile.  
  
“You fixed me.” He started to sit up, “Thanks, man.”  
  
“I didn’t.” Cas’ voice was small. Pained. “I couldn’t, Dean. I tried.”  
  
Dean rolled off the bed and stood shakily on his own feet. He brought his hand up and then quickly dropped the knife it held. Looking at Death and then Crowley, he quickly went to the mirror.  
  
He drew back in horror. “No.” It came out in a whisper. His black eyes teared, “No, no,” he shook his head, “this,” he looked back at Cas, “not this, please, Cas. Not this.”  
  
Cas felt as if he’d been knifed right in the gut.  
  
“Oh, Dean,” Crowley crooned as he came toward him, “don’t be like that. I can give you everything!”  
  
Dean shook his head. “I will not be one of your dogs! Your henchmen!” He backed away until the corner of the room was at his back. He swallowed the surge of bile that rose in his throat.  
  
He looked at Cas and Death. He looked back at Crowley. He gathered his wits. Straightening up he squared his shoulders, “I didn’t choose you.” His chin rose, “You can’t take me. I didn’t choose you, Crowley. I will never choose you.”  
  
The King of Hell chuckled as he smoothed his tie. He chuckled again at the stricken look on Dean’s face, “I can give you life, dear boy. Without me, there is only endless sleep. Don’t you think you’re worth a bit of the riches of this world. I can give you that, you know.”  
  
Dean looked longingly at Cas.  
  
The angel’s shoulders slumped as he shook his head, “I don’t have enough, Dean.” A single tear coursed down his cheek. “I know this is not what you want, but you don’t have to do his bidding. I can shield you. You can go on Hunting and saving lives. You can still rid the world of Demons.”  
  
Crowley cackled, “Oh, that’s rich, Castiel, even from you!”  
  
“You are still Righteous, Dean.” Cas came toward his friend, “YOU have not fallen. I know what it is to fall, you were coerced, Dean. For the good of all, you took a burden that should not have been yours.”  
  
“But you can’t,” Dean sucked in a breath. “Can you smite me? Do you have juice for that?”  
  
“Probably not,” Cas said quietly. He looked at the mark on Dean’s arm, “I’m not sure it would work,” he nodded to the brand.  
  
“Cas,” Dean whispered, “I can’t ask Sam. I won’t. He won’t. And I don’t want him to carry it.”  
  
Cas shook his head.  
  
Dean looked over at Death and blinking his eyes finally got the black to recede. He pushed past Cas and Crowley. He stood before the reed thin man.  
  
Death held him with kind eyes. He could feel Dean’s respect for him coming in waves. He’d felt it before but he appreciated the human’s feistiness, his bravado, his downright courage.  
  
“Dean,” Death inclined his head to the human.  
  
“You can take me, can’t you,” Dean asked softly.  
  
“I can.”  
  
Dean nodded, “Good, that’s good.”  
  
“Dean,” Death’s soft voice filled the room, “it is not your time.”  
  
“Maybe not, but,” Dean looked at the brand on his arm, “I can’t serve Hell. Please.” He looked over at Cas, “You got Metatron?”  
  
“We did.”  
  
“Good,” Dean nodded, “that’s good.” He turned back to Death, “I got Abaddon. She was the whole reason for this.” He exposed the Cain brand, “That and keeping Metatron from proclaiming himself God.”  
  
“I understand,” Death gave him a whisper of a smile, “Abaddon was hoping she’d have another shot at you in purgatory.”  
  
“Purgatory?” Dean shrugged, “I could do purgatory again, I’d rather do eternity there than serve him,” he sneered at Crowley.  
  
“You wound me,” Hell’s King pouted, “truly you do.”  
  
“Dean,” Cas implored, “it doesn’t have to be this way. Sam and I we can find a way…”  
  
Dean sank to his knees in front of Death, “I can serve you. I would do it willingly.” Dean looked up and Death saw the pain in the human’s eyes.  
  
“You found it difficult to be me, do you remember?” Death twirled his ring around his finger. “And this planet is but a blip on the screen of the universe, Dean.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Dean nodded, “I know. And I remember how difficult it was to be you for just a few minutes, a day.” He looked up at Death, “I’m a good soldier. I can be a good soldier for you. Please. I’m be…begging.”  
  
Death’s hand hovered over Dean’s head. As he lowered his hand the room erupted into a blinding light. Time for a nanosecond stood still.  
  
Dean jumped to his feet putting Cas behind him as a spry older gentleman strode through the room with a mild look of surprise on his face. “You know I never get used to that.”  
  
Cas sank to his knees. Crowley smirked. Death gave the man a nod. Dean remained where he was.  
  
“Dean,” the man’s voice was smooth. Silky. Like fine chocolate when it melts in your mouth.  
  
“Yeah?” Dean rose, “Who’re you? And what are you doing here?”  
  
“Dean,” Cas hissed pulling at his arm, “you should kneel.” He kept his head lowered as he pitched his voice lower, “Father, he doesn’t recognize you.”  
  
The old man laughed, “Perhaps he wants the white robes of the storybooks?” He looked at Dean, “I think he’s much more astute than that. Do you not agree, Castiel?”  
  
“Yes, Father,” Cas whispered, “Dean is a very astute and wonderful human. He’s, well, you know.”  
  
“Mmm, yes,” the man looked appraisingly at Dean, “The Righteous Man. I did well with you, I think.”  
  
Dean looked at the slim man incredulously, “You’re him? HIM him? God?”  
  
The man chuckled throatily, “I am.”  
  
“Get the fuck out!”  
  
“DEAN!” Cas was flabbergasted at his disrespect.  
  
Dean felt a rage unlike any other surge through him. He drew himself up further as he looked down at his kneeling friend, “He may be all that to you, but he sure isn’t to me! And, really, Cas? He abandoned you and all your brothers, the douchbags that they are. HE put Heaven in jeopardy. Earth, the world! Where they hell has He been all this time?”  
  
He hooked his arm under Cas, “Get up! You don’t kneel to anyone!” Dean pulled Cas up, “And especially NOT HIM!”  
  
“Dean, don’t…”  
  
“No, Cas,” Dean shot a venomous glower at God, “Do you have any idea what you’ve put Cas through? Do you have any idea how he’s struggled to do your will?”  
  
Dean turned to Cas, “HE left you holding the bag! HE was the one who put all of this crap in motion, then left to go wherever he goes and did nothing!” He turned to the old man, “Well? Where’ve you been?” He looked the man over. Dark chinos, a button down, leather loafers, “Slumming it? Walking on the beach? Mountain sitting?”  
  
“I enjoy my creations,” the man smiled, “I freely admit that.”  
  
“While your human creations were left at the mercy of your angry abandoned angels?” Dean snorted as he mashed his hand through his short hair. “You let your son have a freak out, sent him to Hell, as I understand it, where he could just play around with people’s lives? Nice going, dude.”  
  
“I gave you the right, the power to choose,” God said while he lounged against the jamb. “It’s why Morningstar hates you.”  
  
Cas felt his chest constrict as he listened to his Father. This wasn’t what he expected when He finally returned. He was so casual. So cavalier. His hand fisted. It itched. White anger ripped through him as he thought of all the trials Dean AND Sam had been through. All the demon’s they’d fought.  
  
His hand raised and before he knew it he felt it slam into the jaw of his Father.  
  
“HOW could you be so callous? I’ve spent millennia telling any being who would listen that you loved them and had a plan for them. A good plan!” His fist rose again only to be stopped.  
  
“Don’t Cas,” Dean quietly murmured in his ear. “Let me be angry with him. He is your father. You love him, but you owe him nothing, Cas, nothing.”  
  
“Dean,” Cas leaned his back into Dean’s chest, “he’s hurt you so much. You’ve done more than any man should be asked to do.” Cas turned to look at Dean, “I didn’t expect, I didn’t…”  
  
“I know,” Dean soothed. “I know. Fathers can be real douches. Yours isn’t any different.” He moved Cas behind him as he turned back to Death who regarded the scene with steady eyes, a cool head.  
  
“Please,” Dean begged. He sank to his knees again, “I’m ready. I’ll be a good soldier for you. You have my word. I won’t break it.”  
  
“Dean, please.”  
  
He could hear the plea in Cas’ voice. He shook it off.  
  
“Father,” Castiel stood before his Father, “cast me out if you want. I am not sure I care. But Dean’s a good man…”  
  
“I know that, Cas.” God laid his hand on Cas’ shoulder, “You’ve done well.”  
  
Cas stayed as he was, “I questioned. I lost faith.”  
  
“No,” God shook his head, “you chose.”  
  
Cas shook his head, “I didn’t. I learned though.” His eyes swept to Dean as he stood taller, “I learned from Dean. I learned to keep going and to keep to my beliefs no matter what they were.”  
  
God still lounged against the door jamb. He stuck his hand in his pocket. To see him, he looked like any other ordinary human.  
  
“Dean,” God spoke to him. “There’s a place for you in Heaven. It’s not time, yet. There’s more for you to do.”  
  
Cas gasped. He could not keep the confusion from his face, his eyes.  
  
“Oh, fuck you,” Dean railed at the Almighty. “I’m not doing any time under Crowley and I don’t want any part of your Heaven!” He snorted in disdain, “You want me to live with those douchebags that you call angels? That’s rich, I’ll give you that.”  
  
Dean stood and faced the deity so many revered, “You’ve got balls. Your angels turn my world upside down because you failed them. Your Heaven? Buddy,” he chided, “you better check out Wikipedia, because the show you’re runnin’? That don't sound like heaven to me.”  
  
“Dean, darling boy,” Crowley piped up finally from his perch on the bed, “let me show you the life you can have.”  
  
“Fuck you, too.”  
  
Dean turned back to God. He held out his arm with the Mark of Cain, “You know if you’d just been a bit more mature and less of a whatever, there’d never have been a Cain.” He pushed his arm at God, “Take it off.”  
  
“IF I remove the mark will you take my offer of a place in Heaven,” God asked.  
  
Cas held in his surprise. Father never bargained.  
  
Dean shook his head, “Nope. Not spending eternity with your lot. I choose Death.” He turned to the Fourth Horsemen, “IF you’ll have me.”  
  
Death peered at the human he so admired. With a slight grin he inclined his head, “You will be a prized asset, Dean Winchester.”  
  
“Cas,” Dean turned to his friend. He grabbed him in a fierce hug. A single tear sat on the precipice of his lashes. This was the last contact he’d have with anything breathing. “Thank you.” Cas gripped Dean tighter. “Sam, take,” Dean’s voice thickened, “take care of Sam for me. Yeah?”  
  
“Of course, Dean.” Cas kept his voice steady as Dean gave him a last squeeze and pulled away.  
  
He glanced up at his friend, “Don’t let him do anything stupid,” he glared at Crowley, “and keep him away from that.”  
  
“Of course,” Cas reassured his friend, “Sam will be,” he paused for a heartbeat, “he will be okay. You have my word.”  
  
“Thanks.” Dean turned calmly toward Death, “I’m ready.”  
  


End

Thank you for reading! Your comments will be appreciated and cherished!

**Author's Note:**

> Copyright Disclaimer: That all characters are the property of Warner Bros. Television, CW Network LLC, Wonderland Sound and Vision, and Eric Kripke is fully acknowledged. No copyright infringement intended. Character names are merely borrowed for fun. I do not own any characters, products or services depicted in this story which you may recognize. The canon characters of the series, Supernatural, are out of their series character, hence [Section 107 of the US Copyright Clause on 'Fair Use'](http://www.copyright.gov/fls/fl102.html) is cited. This is, in majority, a transformative work, solely enjoyed by a specific audience and no profit is realized. Original characters and/or characterizations, story concepts and plot are the property of the author publishing as Dickensgal or Dickensgal31.


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